


fight me

by nerosStrand



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerosStrand/pseuds/nerosStrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble written for an ask box meme on Tumblr for user thaumaturgicteratism about her Rose and my Eridan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fight me

You’d been genuinely shocked when Rose had agreed to meet you considering how you hadn’t actually had to pester her much. She’d been explicit with her demands on where you were to convene, ever-austere and brooking no room for argument in her sharp, lavender text. You’d had no inclination to argue, of course. You were too excited to care, and you let her have that small victory with a graciousness you had certainly lacked as a wiggler – a graciousness that was more than likely lost to her in her bright-burning agitation with you.

It doesn’t bother you. It doesn’t even bother you now as you stand tall and still some twenty feet from her, cape billowing in the wind, hair tousled and wild. There’s something like surprise written in her features as she appraises you – surprise, perhaps, at both the height and sweeps you have on her. You aren’t the Eridan from her time line, after all, and it’s an advantage. You’d be lying if you could confess to any positive feelings or pride in your alternates, but you mentally thank them regardless. If they’ve done anything good with their no doubt miserable existences it has been to significantly lower any expectations regarding your own determination and ferocity.

And the element of surprise is always nice.

Still, you do not underestimate Rose Lalonde. She’s always been your favorite human, your first and only alien black crush burning hot on the heels of your painful emotional withdrawal from Vriska – a crush, you find without any real surprise, that has persisted the sweeps.

Twisting her wand between her long, delicate fingers, she’s rectified her mild and momentary lapse in composure, staring up at you with straight-lipped severity and narrowed, violet eyes. “Don’t imagine this as anything more than it is. I feel nothing beyond the most platonic of hate for you.”

“I’m more than aware,” you call back, tone jovial. There’s a shadow that seems to have over taken her bright, delicate features, creeping up and over her form like a skittering, physical manifestation of a nightmare. The sight of it alone makes you giddy, and your throat tightens, mouth curling into a slow, sharp smile.

You command your own power, feeling it rise up from within, licking at your skin in white and gray flames that you can barely feel save for the lingering feeling of warmth that remains after they’ve dissipated into the cool night air.

At one point you’d thought that you were the counter to Rose’s shadow, the light to her dark. Where she had embraced the madness of the Horrorterrors and seemingly bastardized her allegiance to her title as a Light-player, you had claimed your ‘white science’ as a successful Hope player. Or so you’d thought.

It had seemed, at the time, that you were two sides of the same coin. Light and Hope – had it not made perfect sense that you would be similar? But she’d succumbed to the darkness and you had risen above.

_Or so you’d thought._

In reality the color of your ‘white science’ has little to do with any sort of black or white morality, and as a Prince of Hope you were never meant to be Hope’s champion as you – and everyone else – had initially assumed.

No, you were meant to _destroy it._

Your white science – what you’ve long and begrudgingly come to admit is inevitably magical in nature – is the result of the murder of the hundreds of angels on LOWAA at your hands. You paid for this talent in their blood and their screams, in the loss and elimination of their hope, of the lives.

No, you think with a smile; you are as far from Hope’s champion as you could possibly be.

And so you are not Rose’s counter. You are not the right to her wrong, the justice to her crimes.

The billowing black of her power surges around her, gibbering with a wet sounding hiss that speaks of terror and pain unimaginable. But you aren’t frightened. You’re invigorated.

Raising your ringed hand to the sky, the white flames billowing around you coalesce into crackling, searing light that snaps and snarls around your fingers, humming with the chorus of a thousand voices screaming out in eternal pain – the voices of the angels who gave their lives for this sweet, intimate madness that has both driven you and slowly undone you.

She doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. Your powers surge forward, clashing together into one blinding flash of black and white, death and death and death again.

There is no light or hope in this exchange. There is nothing but the raw and the untamed, two dealers of despair raising a chorus of hell between the two of you.

You have never felt so complete with another – and yet so regretful that she does not feel the same.


End file.
